Big Jim rubs his stomach, feeling like it’s grown bigger again (a little too big, he thinks, makes a little self-promise about no more of Belle’s pasta for a while). Todd steps off of the little rower onto the jetty, comes over, stands next to big Jim inside the Docker’s shed where the sound of rain on tin roof is like white noise, makes thinking easy and the silence unawkward. Big Jim can still see the tanker’s on-off flashing red in the darkness, even in the weather, like a weak heart’s beat.
After nearly a minute Todd laughs. Big Jim gives Todd The Look. Todd doesn’t get it. “Hey,” he says, “you think this rain’ll drive ‘em crazy extra-early when they come to?” Todd nudges Big Jim in the rib. “D’you think all them big ‘uns’ll make it extra quiet in there? Like carpet in a-?”
Big Jim, at last, shoves Todd hard, who hits a desk, sends a half-dozen empty beer cans all over. Todd’s voice goes all high like he’s scared. “Jesus, the fuck was that-“
Big Jim shoves him again. “I’m guessin’ you want me to go ahead and tell you again, just cause you like to hear me talk. That it?” Todd doesn’t do anything. “’Upon return ashore, staff and any present members of the public with genuine, sincere interest are asked to acknowledge their honourable and above all necessary task with sixty seconds of silence, during which they are invited to reflect upon their place in our bold new society.’” Big Jim picks chucks a can over at Todd, intending to miss the head but clipping the ear. No food or drink neither, he thinks. Probably fuckin’ Red. “60 god-damned seconds silence, can’t you even fuckin’ manage that? You stupid?”
“It *says* ‘asked!” Todd yells. “T’ain’t respect if you gotta be told to do it, asshole,” Big Jim yells right back. “You’re ‘sposed to get the why of it yourself. Sorry if they didn’t write up the rules and regs with disrespectful dumb fucks like you in mind.”
Todd submits. “Red don’t care,” he says under his tongue.
“God damn right Red don’t care,” says Big Jim. “Don’t mean you don’t need to neither.”
Todd doesn’t reply, just walks out to clear the rower.
Big Jim sighs and sits down in a red E-Z-Lay someone left. Not this neither, thinks Big Jim. The light from the tanker was gone. Just this evening he’d started to feel that maybe he was getting to a point where he could cut loose, move on, go. Now he felt all anchored all over again. To Todd. Fuckin’ Red.
Six months ago and Belle hadn’t commented or nothing. Hopefully she didn’t even think about it. Big Jim blushed a little just thinking about what she might say. He’d find a way out.
He’d thought he’d really done it when he’d met Belle. All his bases covered now; pest extermination hadn’t exactly made him a Mr. Big Shot Why Don’t You Buy Me A Drink Sugar with the ladies, even if it paid good, and he’d started to get an itch about it. Sometimes he’d be driving to jobs and catch himself lightly daydreaming over dying somewhere cold and alone surrounded by pay stubs, carpet he’d kept meaning to vacuum and drawers he’d meant to clear. Not a pretty picture. Nope. But then Belle, and no more bad daydreams. Beer with the boys every Wednesday and Friday wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t the same as being warm at night, a girl to kiss and maybe hit up for something else every now and then. Stop it, Big Jim thinks. No more of that kind of talk.
Todd wrestles the tarp in the high wind and Big Jim thought about going over, didn’t. Let him think about what he’s doin’ here, why not?
But so even though things had been good, now he was all late weeknights and fortnightly four hour drives to stand on a beach in the rain ‘till gone midnight. Just like this.
Not that he minded. Better him than someone else. Just like it said on the badge. Someone’s gotta do it. Sometimes that might mean doing something a little, you know, *grey*, but that’s it isn’t it; the only way’s the only way.
Todd yelled from outside. “I’mma put this in the truck.” He had a young man’s way of making even basic English sound like code for “Fuck you.”
Not so surprising, that anger. Tough week. Tuesday. The paperwork. Todd might be off, but he’d stepped up when he’d been needed. That was the fact. Can’t have been easy. That fat fuck had gone feral, wild. Looked like he’d even been about to reach for something, and let’s be real, waiting for things to play out enough that you’re 100% sure, that’s really more of a luxury than the sort of thing you can just do in the moment. Gotta watch your own back.
The streets looked different now, had to be said. No more sick, no more dying, no more warning shots from mother nature about waning discipline, self-control. Just… you know, *normal* people.
Big Jim thought about getting up following Todd. This little moment to himself, it felt good.
These people, they had to know what they were doing to themselves. No doubt. This one time, standard Wednesday round-up, they’d cornered this one lady, 350, 400, thereabouts, coming out of McDonalds of all places, this beat-up look on her face. Sometimes, on jobs, Big Jim got the worries. There’s a moment before you pick up the sack and the little stun-harpoon, designed specifically it ought to be said to be as humane as could be for the task unfortunately at hand, sometimes there’s a moment where Big Jim asked himself “Could there be a better way?” But not that day. Didn’t even need the harpoon with this lady.
“Ma’am,” he’d asked, one arm out to hold Todd back, who could get a little ‘enthusiastic.’ She’d turned, the lady, still chewing, massive blue eyes (actually pretty, beautiful even on anyone else, he’d freely admit) open wide, but she saw the badge and the harpoon and just, you know, lowered her shoulders and swallowed, looked so accepting, red-handed. She closed her eyes and nodded.
Big Jim went over, slipped the sack over her head himself, gentle as he could, made sure nothing was caught or uncomfortable. Big Jim obviously couldn’t verify this for himself, but under the bag he imagined her face as with the hint of a smile on it, like deep down she knew this was her big chance. Things could be better now.
1am. Big Jim got up, took one last breath of sea air, to remember for the four hours ahead down highways, with darkened fields of Maize forever on either side.
Probably’d get back in time to sleep only half of Saturday away.
But it was good work. He’d done good.
When someone made it back, they’d learned their lesson. They’d changed. One guy, Jared, had his own commercials now. His story was crazy. First to wake up on the tanker. Last one standing. Whole boat had been written off. A bunch of the parts that were supposed to become lifeboats got smashed up for weapons, which seemed to be that. But Jared, he kept going. He did good, solid, craftsman’s work with bone: bound it, lined it with tanned skin (of which there was, of course, plenty) built his own damn rower. Made it back. Thin and tanned and wiry as they come too! Wouldn’t even eat while they checked him for vitamin deficiencies and such. Takes everything via IV and paste now. Just opened his 5th gym, owns a farm… Posterboy for the whole program. A marvel.
So, Big Jim reminds himself at night, if he thinks of that woman again, and her blue eyes, just because you feel bad, can’t just give up on them. Anyone, if they try, they can do it. Just gotta give them the chance.
Thinking of home, Big Jim walks over to the truck. In his head he’s already rehearsing his apology to Todd. He wouldn’t never come right out and say “Todd, you’re like a son to me” or anything, but that was sort of what he meant and felt. Could at least thank him for Tuesday, say he hadn’t forgotten. That he didn’t mean to be hard on him or anything, but you know, rules was rules. Pushed him because he loved him, all that. That it was noticed, the way he never failed to row out with the boat kits off to the tanker and leave them there, do the last checks and make sure the engines would take them far enough out. A good worker.
And Big Jim had already started to say “You know, Todd, I just wanted to-“ when it feels like a club swung by a bear knocks his head against the glass, and holds him in place, and when there’s a squeeze on his neck he realises it’s a god-damned hand, just with such strength the pain is more than he can take, can’t even resist.
Mouth barely moving, Big Jim says “Look, buddy! It’s OK! I’ll do whatever you want. Nobody needs to get hurt” and through the window he sees Todd propped up in the passenger seat, eyes open and jaw hanging.
The mystery-guy flips him around, and as his eyes adjust Big Jim sees the guy’s a girl, a woman, her head hidden under matts of hair, which when she brushes away to reveal big, blue, furious eyes, set deep in a gaunt face leather-black from too much sun and shining like angry newborn stars. “Please, I’m a good man,” Big Jim says. “I just wanted to help.”